was speechless, astounded. He rose to his feet and stared at the woman incredulously. When, at last, he found his voice he said:
"But, Mrs. Bradley, it is not true. Why did you say it? It can't be true! It must not be true!"
"Oh, but it is true!" she protested. "It's the truest thing that ever was or will be. And it's because he knows it's true that he wants to kill you. The coward! The monster!"
Her voice had grown high and shrill. Her eyes flashed with alternate hate, devotion and despair. Her whole body was quivering with the intensity of her emotion. It was apparent to the rector that a point had been reached beyond which both questionings and reproof would be not only futile but disastrous. Her imperative need now was to be soothed and comforted. He passed around the table to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. His touch had quieted others, perhaps it would quiet her. His hope was not vain. Under the magic pressure of his hand she suddenly found her anger gone, and the tempest in her hot heart stilled. A wave of deep contrition swept in upon her, and she sank, penitent and sobbing, at his feet.
"Forgive me!" she moaned. "I have been so wicked and so weak, and so utterly unjust to you. I shall not trouble you any more. I'm going away, where you will never see me nor hear of me again. But," and she lifted her pallid, tear-wet face to his, "it is true, true, true that I have loved you."
Gently, reverently, with white-hearted courtesy, he bent over her, took her hands, and lifted her to her feet.
"May our dear Lord look kindly on you," he said, "and inspire you with that love for Him which alone can quiet and satisfy the unruly heart."
"You are—very good," she replied; "very good! I will—go—now."
She released her hands from his and drew them
